


Goodwill

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, Dancing, Flirting, M/M, Multi, Post-War, Ratchet is Here to Flirt With Every Mech to Establish Inter-faction Peace and Goodwill, Sexy Transparent Plating, The Party Ambulance Has Arrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 03:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19636936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “Changing minds is an art, Optimus. Fortunately for you, you came to the right mech for the job.”





	Goodwill

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the H8T Miller figure by Newage:  
> https://tfsource.com/newage/H8T-Miller/
> 
> I just had to write something with The Party Ambulance strutting around in that transparent plating, so why not establishing inter-faction peace and goodwill?
> 
> Shout out to the folks on twitter who shared their G1 Ratchet rarepairs with me to help take a vague idea and shape it into something resembling a story. I don't know if 4.7k words of flirting count as a story but hopefully it does.

“Is it integrated yet?”

“Almost. I forgot how tricky this damn chest piece is,” Ratchet said as he shifted his digits where he had shoved them beneath the bottom edge of said piece.

“Did you want me to try?”

“No, no, you just keep holding it. I’ve found the latch, I just--”

Ratchet fell silent, glossa caught between his dentae as he wiggled the latch with the tip of his digit. Close, close, Primus it was so close, if he could just—

Finally with a click and hiss of hydraulics, the chest piece connected to Ratchet’s frame, pulling in tight to lock into place.

“Told you.”

“I didn’t doubt you,” Optimus replied. The servos he had on the bottom corners of Ratchet’s chest grasped it tighter and tried to move it one way and then the other, as if to test that it was truly locked into place.

Ratchet smirked as he freed his servo from the gap in his plating to rap on Optimus’s windshield.

“You sure this isn’t just a scheme to get me into this plating again?”

Optimus’s optics practically sparkled as he finally looked back up at Ratchet’s face.

“You know full well how I feel about this particular plating set.”

“Oh, I’m _very_ aware,” Ratchet teased. “It’s always been a crowd pleaser.”

“Which is why I appreciate you bringing it out again.” Finally Optimus moved away, taking his big warm servos with him. “Not that I think you need it. You’re always able to work a room, old friend.”

“I’m out of practice,” Ratchet insisted as he took the chance to turn towards the full length mirror. It had been millions of years since he had last had a chance to wear any plating that wasn’t wargrade armor. Ratchet had lost count of how many times he had nearly tossed this set, sure that he would never have the chance again.

“You say that like you’ve ever stopped attending parties.”

“Of course not. But I stopped having to try at them. It’s always been easy with my fellow Autobots.” Now though, as Ratchet ran his servos up his own frame, dragging this plating across the universe for millions of years was worth it. “It takes skill to turn heads when they don’t know you. And mechs that have already decided they don’t like you?”

Ratchet finally turned away from the mirror and back towards Optimus, deliberately letting his servos trace down his frame along his most attractive lines and angles without a hint of shyness, well aware of how little the transparent crystal plating hid. Red-tinted where his usual red would be and clear where his white would be, it was easy to see the silhouettes of his protoform despite the slight cloudiness. Every joint and strut that made up his skeleton; every bundle of lines and wires that travelled up and down that skeleton, splitting off to where they were needed; every chip, every hydraulic, every vital life-sustaining organ.

Optimus had seen it all before – had helped Ratchet out of his usual armor and into the crystal plating – and yet still his optics burned bright, absolutely and utterly enthralled.

Ratchet wasn’t sure if the Prime even noticed his self-satisfied grin.

“Changing minds is an art, Optimus. Fortunately for you, you came to the right mech for the job.”

* * *

The truce had held so far. As far as anyone was concerned, the Bots and Cons were managing to handle living side-by-side peacefully.

Even if ‘side-by-side’ was an exaggeration.

While they all lived in the same city, it had only been a week and both sides had already self-segregated completely. Decepticons took up the North side while the Autobots settled in the South. There was mixing where the two met, but even that was wrought with purposely avoided gazes and pointed silence.

However, there was only one bar, smack dab on that line, and neither side was willing to give it up.

Prowl had told Optimus that if there was a tipping point one way or the other, it was Maccadam’s.

Neither Optimus nor Megatron dared enter that fray, quite sure that their presence was bound to set the whole situation alight. But if left alone, some overcharged idiot was sure to start a fight and blow the truce sky high anyway. If a show of goodwill was going to be made, it had to be among the soldiers, and it had to be soon.

Ratchet wasn’t worried though.

Frenzy’s jaw dropped wide open and Eject’s optics flared bright enough to risk burning themselves out as Ratchet casually strolled up to the front door, giving them both a small smile.

“Is it safe to assume you boys don’t need to check me for weapons?”

While neither of the cassettes were known for being especially quiet, now they were struck speechless, nodding mutely. Ratchet took that as all the answer he needed and made his way inside.

And if he swung his hips a little more than was necessary as he waved over his shoulder at them, well, it was worth it to hear their little engines choke in sync.

Ratchet nearly laughed aloud at how comically segregated the bar itself was. He entered into a crowd of only Autobots, and it was only when he looked across the large room that he finally saw all the Decepticons gathered at the opposite side. There even appeared to be a second door there – a new addition no doubt to make sure no accidental mixing was had. Along the left wall was a long bar that stretched across nearly the whole length of the room, with Blurr on the Bot side and Swindle on the Con side. On the right wall, near the middle, sat two nearly identical looking DJ set ups with enough space between them to have clearly been kept separate on purpose. Blaster by the Bots, Soundwave by the Cons.

And sat in the middle of the bar, separating the Bots and Cons, was an empty dance floor.

Oh yes, if ever Ratchet had seen a bar that looked ready to break out in an all-out brawl, this was it.

“Ratch!” Wheeljack crowed as he bounded out of the crowd, his helmfins flashing gleefully as he reached out to grasp Ratchet’s wrist. It was only then that the engineer actually noticed Ratchet’s plating, the happy flashing pattern of his helmfins coming to a screeching halt as they glared without stop. Wheeljack was so caught off guard that he didn’t move when Ratchet chuckled and moved in close enough to press a friendly kiss to his face mask in greeting.

“Come on now, it hasn’t been _that_ long since you’ve seen me.”

“Uh, looking like this it is!” Wheeljack finally managed, his servo moving to Ratchet’s shoulder to push him back enough to look him up and down. “I didn’t know you even still had this! You should have told me you were switching out your normal plating. I would have helped you put it on.”

“I’m know you would have.”

“And he would’ve loved every second of it,” Jazz interrupted as he draped himself over Wheeljack’s shoulder, winking at Ratchet while Wheeljacks vocalizer spat static. “Can’t blame him. You look good enough to eat. Special occasion?”

“What, the return of the Party Ambulance isn’t reason enough?” Ratchet joked. Jazz rolled the light behind his visor with exaggeration, grinning despite himself, before tapping his own cheek expectantly. Ratchet readily leaned forward to give Jazz the kiss he was looking for and received one in return before pulling away.

“Gotta be the center of attention, don’tcha?” It was casual, joking, but Ratchet knew the way that Jazz’s visor was focused on him. Jazz didn’t believe him.

Which was fair. It wasn’t the whole truth by a longshot.

“Not my fault if no one else can keep up,” Ratchet insisted as he took a step back. “Now if you two will excuse me, I have some quick business to attend to before letting loose. But after that I fully expect to see you two on that dancefloor, understand?”

“What?” Wheeljack asked, his optics resetting as he briefly glanced towards the dead dancefloor and then back. “But Ratch—”

“No excuses!”

And then Ratchet was slipping his way through the crowd. Bots fell away from each other to make room for Ratchet – optics bright with surprise and interest and _hunger_ as they looked at him, looked _through_ him to his base components – and thus made it all the easier for Ratchet to make his way through. There were friendly greetings, cheeks and face masks kissed, servos on upper arms and forearms and waists and backs.

Though none as forward as Ironhide who snuck up on Ratchet from behind, slipping his arms around his waist and rumbling his engine against Ratchet’s back in greeting.

“Can’t remember the last time ya looked so good.”

“Oh, I _know_ you can,” Ratchet laughed, turning his helm to kiss Ironhide’s jawline before lightly slapping at the arms around his middle. “Now stop distracting me. I’ve got business.”

“Yeah, with _me._ ”

This time the smack was harsh enough that Ironhide laughed and finally released Ratchet. “Alright, alright, spoilsport. Try to save time for your ol’ pal later though, would ya?”

“We’ll see.”

With a wink Ratchet was off again, finally able to break out of the crowd and onto the dancefloor.

And, for a moment, he was struck by the reality of what he was doing. This wasn’t enemy territory, not officially. And there was plenty of support on his side if things did go badly. There was no reason to be afraid of the crowd of Decepticons in peacetime.

But Ratchet could see now why no mech had dared step through this no mech’s land to offer a friendly servo. The empty dancefloor might as well have been a stage with a huge spotlight focused on him, right where every critical optic could watch and judge him from both sides.

Enemy. Traitor. Liar. Suck up.

…

Ah, frag it. Who cared? Let them look.

Ratchet clearly had nothing to hide.

The Party Ambulance hadn’t ever shied away from a stage and he wasn’t about to start now.

So, with his chin up high, Ratchet strutted his way across the floor, headed straight for the DJ tables. Blaster grinned from audial to audial, waving him over. Ratchet returned the smile and waved back, but he kept his trajectory true. With each step that his destination became more and more obvious, he could see Blaster’s smile slip away into something closer to concern.

Truthfully, Soundwave didn’t look all that happier to have Ratchet step up to his table. Though Ratchet supposed he wasn’t really sure what a _happy_ Soundwave looked like.

“You know,” Ratchet started, carefully placing his servos on the edge of the table so he could lean forward, bending at the waist and curving his back, “I’ve seen two DJs at the same club before, but not like this. I can’t imagine it sounds great if you’re both playing something different at the same time.”

Soundwave’s visor didn’t so much as flicker. But he also didn’t move an inch. He scarcely seemed to be _venting_.

“Ravage got your glossa?”

After a moment, Soundwave’s visor finally blinked, and he said, “Soundwave and Blaster take turns.”

Primus, this was too easy. Ratchet had to hold himself back from chuckling as he pushed his chest out, making it all the easier to see straight through his windshield and crystal plating to the silhouette of his spark chamber. “Now _that_ sounds like a good time.”

Apparently the distance between their tables wasn’t enough to keep Blaster from eavesdropping considering the shrill squealing of his systems was loud enough to be heard over the music.

Soundwave kept a cooler façade at first glance, but this close up, Ratchet could see the subtle shifting of light behind his visor and how it was growing brighter, slowly but surely.

“Autobot Ratchet has song request?”

“Please, just Ratchet will do,” Ratchet teased as he leaned further over the table, as if trying to peek at Soundwave’s monitor. “And yeah. You’ve got to have something good for dancing to, right?”

Finally Soundwave moved his helm, out towards the empty dancefloor and then back towards Ratchet. This time there was definitely a shifting of light behind his visor, starting on Ratchet before quickly looking down and away.

“Dancing unlikely.”

“Don’t you worry. A little ailment like that is nothing for a professional like me to fix right up,” Ratchet insisted. He lifted a servo to brush along one of his windshield wipers, playing it off as an unconscious movement and not the precisely executed technique that it was.

It worked. Soundwave’s visor brightened again and the light shifted, no doubt to Ratchet’s chest.

Too easy.

“You give me the music and I’ll bring you the dancing. Deal?”

After a moment, Soundwave nodded.

“Affirmative, Ratchet.”

Ratchet nodded as he finally straightened. “You better not disappoint.”

“Disappointment impossible. Soundwave, superior,” Soundwave insisted, and Ratchet would _swear_ he stood a little straighter, a little prouder.

And Ratchet had to admit, his smile in return wasn’t the least bit fake.

“Pleasure doing business,” Ratchet said before turning on his heels. He had one Con down and was one step closer to getting the dancefloor bumping. Now he just needed to find the right mech—

Optics met visor and Ratchet couldn’t help the slageating grin that split his face when the other mech sneered.

Alright, first a detour.

“Hook!” Ratchet called out before the Constructicon had a chance to look away and pretend he hadn’t noticed him. As Ratchet quickly made his way over, he could see Hook’s shoulders slump. “What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask the same,” Hook replied snidely.

“I’ve always loved a good party. Can’t say I took you for much of a party mech though.”

“Can’t say I am.”

“Ah, gotcha. Got dragged out by your gestaltmates, huh?” Ratchet placed one servo on his hips and leaned to one side. “Probably for the best anyway. That means there will at least be one sober medic tonight.”

Visor or no, it was clear that Hook was rolling his optics. Next to him though, Scrapper turned around, arms crossed over his chest as he glowered down at Ratchet.

“Sounds like you think we’ll need one tonight. Know something I don’t, _Bot_?”

Four more sets of optics and visors were locked on him as Ratchet found himself being stared down by the entire Constructicon team.

Yet Ratchet couldn’t help but laugh. “Do I look like I’m looking to start a fight?” he asked as he gestured down at his frame. His completely exposed frame. All that protected his delicate inner workings was crystal plating, and while it could withstand the usual wear and tear, no mech in their right mind would believe it would hold up in a brawl. Especially not when whoever they were fighting could literally see right through him to his weakest parts.

There was a pause in the conversation as the gestalt inspected him.

Then, from near the back, Bonecrusher’s lips curled into a smirk and he purred, “Maybe not a fight, but you definitely look like you’re looking for trouble.”

Now the optics and visors had whipped around to Bonecrusher, and Ratchet could only guess at the cacophony that the gestalt bond had become.

“Thanks for noticing,” Ratchet replied with a small grin of his own as he further cocked of his hips, ignoring the roiling silent conversation going on around him. He didn’t hide how he took the chance to return the favor and check Bonecrusher out. “You much of a dancer, Bonecrusher?”

“Not on a dancefloor.” Bonecrusher didn’t even react to how Mixmaster was elbowing him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I can dance on a dancefloor,” Long Haul interjected.

“Me too!” Scavenger added as he literally raised his servo, as if Ratchet might not notice him.

“Primus,” Scrapper grumbled to himself as he scrubbed at his face mask.

“So then that’s a yes, yes,” Ratchet started, pointing from Constructicon to Constructicon, “a ‘maybe later in a dark corner’, a maybe?” Mixmaster shrugged. “Right, a maybe, and?”

Hook and Scrapper shared a look.

Then, in almost perfect synchronicity, they both ex-vented tiredly, looked away, and shrugged as well.

“Three maybes, two yeses, and one possible dark corner make out. Not bad,” Ratchet said, feeling _very_ pleased with himself and not even trying to hide it. “Don’t think I won’t hold you all to that.”

“But _nobody’s_ on the dancefloor,” Hook pointed out with a frown. “Nobody has been, and I can’t see a way that anybody will be.”

“A problem I’m in the process of fixing. But I can’t be expected to do that before having a drink, can I?”

While there were certainly some tempting prospects among the Constructicons, it was better to keep them on the sideline to bolster the dance crowd once Ratchet got it started. There was still time to find the right mech.

But he was being honest. Ratchet really _did_ need a drink. He was distressingly sober considering how long he had been in the bar.

So with a quick goodbye – “Doctor” “…Doctor” – Ratchet was on the move again.

By now Ratchet had been noticed by more mechs. From across the way there were looks of concern and confusion, and from the crowd of Cons he strolled past there was distrust and an all too similar confusion.

But Ratchet didn’t pay them any mind.

Not when he saw who was at the bar.

Skywarp was the first to notice him, and to Ratchet’s amusement the seeker choked on his energon hard enough that it sprayed back into his cube and dribbled down his chin. His optics were wide and bright and he wasn’t the least bit subtle as he elbowed Starscream hard.

Starscream snapped at Skywarp, “ _What?_ ” before turning his helm. He was able to keep more of his dignity compared to his trinemate, though only by virtue of not having any liquid in his mouth. His expression was in many ways an identical copy of Skywarp’s at first, his optics just as wide and bright, his jaw dropped.

Without even trying to hide the smug curl of his lips, Ratchet gave them a short nod as he stepped up to the bar to catch Swindle’s attention.

“Ratchet?” Starscream asked, his voice tight and somehow even higher pitched than usual. He sounded as if he didn’t even recognize the medic in front of him.

That was finally enough to catch Thundercracker’s attention.

And, yes, his optics went wide and bright and his jaw dropped, just like his identical looking trinemates.

But it wasn’t confusion on his face. Unlike every other mech in the bar that was looking at Ratchet, Thundercracker didn’t look confused, or concerned, or even _hungry_. No, the best description for how he looked at Ratchet was with sheer unadulterated _awe_.

Ratchet smiled warmly at him.

“You want me to go grab Blurr?”

And just like that, the spell was broken. Skywarp and Starscream huddled together to whisper fervently with each other while Swindle stood behind the bar, watching the whole situation curiously.

Well, no, perhaps not completely broken. Thundercracker's gaze didn’t waver for even a second.

“Depends. Can you make a Processor Glitch?” Ratchet asked, turning his helm to look at Swindle. However, he made sure to keep his frame angled towards the seekers.

Swindle snorted and replied, “Obviously.”

“Then I’ll have one from you,” Ratchet said as he pulled his credit chip from subspace, letting it dangle between his digits towards Swindle. However, before Swindle could snatch it, Ratchet flipped it back into his palm and closed his servo around it. “Resist the urge to upcharge me and I’ll give you a tip.”

Swindle’s servo froze midair as he considered Ratchet shrewdly.

“What kinda tip?”

“For you?” Ratchet asked as he shifted the chip back up between his digits. “I think we both know you prefer cold hard credits.”

Swindle’s mouth curled as his servo unfurled expectantly. “This seems like a win-win situation for me either way. What makes you think I’ll do it your way, Autobot?”

Ratchet toyed with the credit chip, aware that for this particular mech, that was far more tantalizing than anything Ratchet could do with his frame.

“There’s only so much you can upcharge before it’s considered theft. But there’s no limit on how much I can tip.”

Swindle’s visor never left the chip, even as his smile disappeared.

“And why should I trust you?”

“Consider it a show of goodwill.” When Swindle continued to look unconvinced, Ratchet added, “Besides, everyone knows that if there’s one person you want to make sure likes you, it’s the mech pouring your drinks. So, deal?”

Ratchet held the chip out and, after one last moment’s consideration, Swindle reached out to grab the other end of it.

“Single or double, _friend_.”

Ratchet grinned.

“Double.”

And just like that, Swindle and the credit chip were gone.

“Well, well, look who thinks he’s clever.”

Starscream had managed to pull himself together, and honestly, Ratchet had to respect the Air Commander’s ability to position his frame just so. He was still sat on his stool, but now with his elbows back on the bar surface so his back was arched, pushing his cockpit out and giving his wings room to sway enticingly. The leg closest to Ratchet was outstretched towards the floor while the other was bent so his heel could catch on the stool’s rung, allowing both legs to be showcased. Needless to say that Starscream was buffed and waxed to shiny perfection.

All this while exuding a casual yet condescending aura, as if every inch of his frame wasn’t positioned purposefully for maximum enticement and intimidation. Having his two trinemates behind him only added to the presentation.

(Well, it would have if Thundercracker wasn’t staring at Ratchet like he was Primus himself, anyway.)

Unfortunately for Starscream, Ratchet didn’t care one bit.

He simply returned Starscream’s smirk with one of his own and replied, “Among other things.”

Starscream huffed dismissively, lifting his cube to his lips for the smallest of sips, clearly more for show than taste. As he did, his optics slowly and blatantly considered Ratchet’s frame, his pursed lips pulling into a disgusted sneer.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, medic. I didn’t take you for the sort who would wear something so… distasteful.”

Ratchet’s smirk only grew.

“Looks good on me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Thundercracker!”

Ratchet snickered as Starscream tried to reprimand his trinemate. However, Thundercracker managed to hold his ground, (“What? It does”), Skywarp wasn’t much help to his trineleader (“TC’s not wrong”), and for all that he knew how to position himself, Starscream had never been the best at keeping his mouth shut (“That’s not the point!”)

Swindle returned with Ratchet’s drink, and after taking a sip to find that the Con had managed to stay true to his word and made it a double instead of watering it down, Ratchet told him to keep the tab open. Primus knew he’d be back for more.

And then the uneven transition from one song to the next registered in Ratchet’s audials.

And oh. _Oh_. Soundwave had really delivered. _This_ was a song that Ratchet could dance to.

So, without a second’s hesitation, Ratchet tipped the drink back and chugged. The burn on the way down his intake was like an old friend and the charge already building in his tanks an old lover. The cube dissipated after a satisfying squeeze and then Ratchet settled his gaze on his target.

“Wanna dance?”

When Thundercracker just stared back, dumbfounded, before pointing at himself, Ratchet grinned and clarified, “Yes, you, Big Boy.”

And then Thundercracker’s handsome face nearly split with the sheer glee and wonder of his smile. His wings snapped up eagerly, unwittingly knocking a drink out of someone’s servo given the irritated cursing and splash of liquid that hit the ground behind him. Thundercracker shoved his half-finished cube towards Skywarp without warning, accidentally crushing it against his cockpit and leaving the now cube-less liquid to splash down his disgruntled trinemate’s plating and join the spreading mess on the floor. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, I definitely wanna--”

“Oh no you don’t!” Starscream shrieked as he scrambled off his stool to stand between Ratchet and his love-struck tinemate, wings outspread wide and aggressive. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but--”

Clearly Starscream had expected Ratchet to step back when he crowded into the Autobot’s space. However, Ratchet ex-vented with amusement as he in fact stepped up even closer to the seeker, crystal chest meeting transparasteel cockpit.

Starscream’s ranting came to a sudden stop when Ratchet lifted a transparent digit to press to his mouth.

“Relax,” Ratchet purred as he dimmed his optics, rumbling his engine so Starscream would feel the vibrations, unable to ignore where they touched. When Starscream didn’t immediately jump back into a tirade, shocked into silence, Ratchet let his digit drag down Starscream’s bottom lip to his chin and down his neck. “It’s just dancing. I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“And why should I trust _you_?”

Starscream didn’t need to bother adding ‘Autobot Scum’ given the way he spat the word ‘you _._ ’

“Goodwill?”

Ratchet’s digit was joined by a second as they trailed down to Starscream’s chest to swirl around the pointed tip at the center of a turbine.

“And what use is goodwill to me?”

Despite himself, Starscream’s helm dipped down when Ratchet tipped his face up, bringing them within venting distance of each other.

“Well,” Ratchet ex-vented as he pressed up on the front of his pedes. He turned his helm before lips could meet, instead landing his kiss on Starscream’s cheek. “If you accept this Autobot Scum’s goodwill graciously, maybe you’ll get your turn next.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Next?”

Ratchet pulled back to smirk in Starscream dumbstruck face.

“Shall we, Thundercracker?” he asked, wiggling the digits of the servo he had held out around Starscream’s side.

And then the bar was a whirl as Thundercracker’s large servo grasped his and they were off, and not even Ratchet could say who was dragging who to the dancefloor. The drink was starting to really hit him, but not nearly as hard as the rush of victory as Thundercracker spun him and they both laughed when Ratchet stumbled before the pulsing beat of music tugged them both into a shared rhythm.

And they weren’t alone.

Half of the Constructicons were dragging the other half out on the floor, and hardly any time at all had passed before Jazz melted out of the crowd, grinning wide as finally he was able to show off his own dance moves properly. Wheeljack looked less confident as he was tugged out of the crowd, but his off-beat swaying was endearing and got a few more Autobots joining in.

And with every Bot and Con that took to the floor, still more came. Skywarp appeared over Thundercracker’s shoulder, yelling over the music, “Wait, that means I get a turn too, right? Ratchet?” before being yanked away by one of Ironhide’s strong arms around his middle and into a spin, and just past them was First Aid tentatively talking to Breakdown who looked just as shy, even as he smiled and nodded, and Blaster and Soundwave were both leaned over their tables to finally communicate with each other, both having brought his monitor closer so they could see each other’s song choices, and--

And Ratchet _laughed_ as he wrapped his arms around Thundercracker’s shoulders.

Because that was the secret to an empty dancefloor.

Nobody ever wanted to be the first on it, afraid of the judgement that came with having a spotlight bearing down on them. What if they were clumsy? Offbeat? Alone?

(A traitor, an enemy, a liar, a suck up.)

What if they were the only one who wanted to dance and no one joined them?

(What if no one else wanted peace?)

But they were never the only one. Never.

All it took was a song, an outstretched servo, and goodwill.

And alright, maybe some transparent crystal plating helped.


End file.
